Lute met me at the station.

From his disjointed and lengthy story I gathered that Mother had been "feelin' fust-rate for her" until the noon before.

"I come back from the post-office," said Lute, "and I was cal'latin' to read the newspaper, but Dorindy had some everlastin' chore or other for me to do--I believe she thinks 'em up in her sleep--and I left the paper on the dinin'-room table and went out to the barn.

Dorindy she come along to boss me, as usual.

When we went back to the house there was Mrs.Comfort on the dinin'-room floor--dead, we was afraid at fust.